


Off & On Extras

by run_sure_footed



Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: 2nd fic tags:, 3rd fic tags:, Being Caught Masturbating, Biting, Break Up, Confessions of love, Glam Rock Hamsters are food, Hurt feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Left for Dead, M/M, Make Up, Masturbation, Paranoia, Penetrative Sex, Rescue, Weird Biology, angry break up off screen, angry make up, delirious, fear of thunder, fear-croaking, mentioned Froglet deaths, non-mammalian genitalia, rain-induced horniness, teaching Froglets to fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27734731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_sure_footed/pseuds/run_sure_footed
Summary: We wrote three Off & On fics that we ended up cutting from the Before Kipo series, but we figured we'd post them in case people wanted to read more Hamack suffering.
Relationships: Harris/Jamack (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	1. Defeat & Warmth

_This fic would have been set between Under Glass and Over._

_Defeat_

Harris had meant what he said. Really, he had. And he wasn’t _technically_ breaking his word—he wasn’t going to let Jamack out of this. Because he was going to get out of it first. This had been, unquestionably, the best few months of his life. He laughed to himself—even without Jamack, he’d been feeling so much better since he’d started going to the place Jamack had built for him and actually being warm and damp enough at least some of the time.

But now it had to end. He had to end it, before he made Jamack break his promise.

He’d overheard an older Mod Frog telling Jamack how much better off he’d be without Harris and Kwat dragging him down. He knew it was right—had always known it was right—but he’d been selfish.

He didn’t think he could convince Jamack to leave the two of them, not entirely, but he could at least keep Jamack from getting further entangled in a net of emotion and illicit meetings. Let him concentrate _just_ on what was most important.

Harris would be… Well, he could admit it to himself, if only for the briefest instant. He would be heartbroken. But it was better this way.

No—this was the only way. He had to leave Jamack before Jamack left him.

But now he had to plan. He couldn’t do it at the glass house, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to play his part convincingly. He was terrified he’d break down crying and ruin everything.

He didn’t want to do it on the car while on patrol, even though that was one of the few other times they would be safe and alone together to talk.

He didn’t want to do it in Jamack’s office, because he—probably giving himself far more self-importance than he deserved, honestly—didn’t want to taint the place for Jamack.

Finally, he decided there was only one place he could do it. Alright, it posed the same problem as the office, but… Well, he didn’t have a ‘but.’ Not really.

On a night when they weren’t patrolling, when he knew Jamack was in his burrow, he carefully made his way along the bank and out onto the lily pads. He could have done it during the middle of the day and he would have needed to be just as stealthy—Frogs having impeccable nightvision, of course.

Before he could think his way out of it, he crawled out under the lily pad and pulled himself along its underside. The trip seemed less harrowing than ever before, but maybe that was just because of the terrible fuel that drove him now. But no, that wasn’t right. The last time he’d come down here it was to save Jamack’s life. Maybe the difference now was that he simply didn’t _care_.

He made plenty of noise as he went down the tunnel—it would be all very convenient for him if Jamack thought he was an intruder and killed him before realizing who it was, especially if he’d been sleeping, but Harris didn’t think fate would be that merciful to him, and he hoped it wouldn’t be that cruel to Jamack. Jamack had always had an unnatural amount of luck, in his way. When it really mattered.

He popped his head out at the end of the tunnel and drew a deep breath, which his body tried to force into a croak. He managed to swallow it down, his inflated body bobbing absurdly in the water.

“Jamack,” he called softly, not wanting to fully commit to coming out of the water until Jamack knew he was there and who he was.

Harris immediately got a hard punch in the arm. “You asshole! Warn me next time!” Jamack put his hand on his chest, as though to calm the quick thumping of his heart. He’d been dozing off when he’d heard someone making their way up the entrance to his burrow and it had immediately sent him into fight-or-flight mode, and there was no flight option available with the one exit he had blocked by an enemy. “I thought I was going to have to kill someone.” Or something. The Pond was pretty safe, but every once in awhile a leech or an eel or something else nasty slipped in, and every when something like that tried to take over a burrow a Frog might simply disappear from their ranks, mysteriously.

“What’s going on?” It had to be something pretty serious for Harris to consider visiting him in his burrow.

Harris giggled nervously, hauling himself out of the water and rubbing his arm. The pain, slight as it was, helped gather his focus, his resolve.

“S-Sorry.” Fuck. When he got nervous, Harris knew he sounded like Kwat as a Froglet. “I…wasn’t sure where else to go.” Double fuck. Now he’d probably gotten Jamack worried about him, which was one of the many, many things he was trying _not_ to do.

“What happened?” Harris was right—the way he’d phrased it immediately made Jamack worry something had happened to Harris.

Harris managed to vent the air his body was trying to gather for a croak as a stiff cough. Fuck, what should he say? What _could_ he say that he hadn’t already said what felt like a thousand times before, and he had never meant less? He’d practiced this over and over in his head since he’d made his decision, but now, faced with Jamack, all the words fled and all he wanted to do was press himself against Jamack and beg to stay for the night.

No. He had to be swift, had to be decisive, for both their sakes.

But he had to say _something_ new, surely? Just one thing. It didn’t help that his memories of doing this before were blurry and indistinct and he tried not to revisit them because they _hurt_ like thorns wrapping around his entire self whenever he prodded them. What _had_ he said before?

What had gone unsaid?

What would Jamack say? That was the important thing. He wasn’t doing this for himself. He was doing it for Jamack, so why not _as_ Jamack?

Why not lie?

“This, you and me?” He managed to keep his hands still and down at by his sides and not gesture in the empty air between them, because if he put them a _fraction_ closer to Jamack he knew he’d lose himself, and they were already in such a tiny space together. “It makes me sick. I can’t do it anymore. I _won’t_ do it anymore.”

Jamack narrowed his eyes, then started to speak, very slowly. “No. You can’t lie to me about this anymore, you can’t say that again and pretend that you mean it!” His hands had clenched into fists and he kept them carefully on his lap. “ _Every time_ you end it we get back together. Every time we’re apart you _miss_ it! Don’t do this again.” He wasn’t sure if he was threatening Harris or begging him, and his tone of voice couldn’t seem to decide either.

Harris shook his head. “We’ve gone too far this time.” That was true enough, and Harris marvelled at how steady his voice came out. “What we’re doing, it disgusts me. I want no part in it.”

“Don’t fucking _lie_ to me!” Jamack’s voice was raising into a yell, though the sound was muted by the mossy walls of his burrow. He was struggling to stay still, not to grab Harris and shake him. “You called me your mate, you didn’t want _me_ to leave _you_! You said you wouldn’t let me back out!”

 _“I’m not!”_ Harris shouted back. “I’m _not_ letting you back out.”

“Is that what this is!? Are you afraid _I’m_ going to leave?”

“No!” And that was one of the very few things Harris wasn’t afraid of, because he wasn’t going to give Jamack the chance.

“Then why?! And tell me the truth!”

Oh, fuck. There were so many answers to that, so many things he wanted to say and couldn’t, not ever, but especially not now. “I told you,” he said, as icily as he could. He didn’t think it would actually work, he was almost certain Jamack would drag more words out of him, but he could at least try.

Jamack shook his head. He was trying so hard to keep himself contained. He couldn’t let out the physical side effects of his anger, he couldn’t pace, he wouldn’t hit Harris, so he dug his fingertips into his own wrist, painfully hard. “I want to hear the real reason,” he said, his voice low and surprisingly steady. “I will _never_ forgive you if you won’t tell me why.” Was that even a worthwhile threat now? Would Harris even care?

Harris started trembling uncontrollably. Here it was. Jamack had called his bluff, had used the one thing that was _guaranteed_ to get Harris to do what he wanted—because that was Jamack’s true skill. He knew how to utterly _destroy_ everyone he met in twenty words or less—far less, in Harris’ case, because Jamack knew him so well. “I’m doing this for _you_ , you idiot!” he snapped. He wished he had something to throw at Jamack, but he didn’t dare bend down and make himself vulnerable while he picked something up. He didn’t think Jamack would attack him, but he wasn’t certain enough to risk it.

“I don’t know if I’ve made this clear to you or not, but _this isn’t what I want_!” Jamack yelled. “Don’t do this, Harris, if something is wrong we can _fix_ it, just let me _try_!”

“No.” Again, that giddy laugh bubbled up in Harris and he forced it down hard. How often did he say no, _really_ say no, to Jamack? “No, I won’t. Not this time.” He turned and slipped into the tunnel, realizing only too late that he hadn’t really stopped and taken a proper breath. It was stupid of him, of course, and the stupidity was only compounded by the fact that he’d have to flail and fight his way back to the surface with his under-filled lungs while Jamack could happily swim circles around him. As far as exits went, it was pretty pitiful, but at least Jamack wouldn’t be able to _talk_ underwater. Though he could still sign. Shit.

He hadn’t been sure if Jamack would even bother following him or not, and he half expected to feel a hand close around his ankle and start dragging him down into the depths, or pull him up to the surface, or anything in between. There was no splash, no sense of movement in the water behind him.

Harris felt like he’d hardly blinked and he was already at the end of the tunnel, lungs burning. He thrashed his way over to the lily pad’s stalk and hauled himself up it until he reached the air again. His strength left him then and it was all he could do to keep himself from losing his empty stomach. He curled up in the exact middle, the gentle night breeze making the plant bob up and down, bit his wrist as hard as he could, and sobbed all alone. He didn’t care who saw him now.

Back in the burrow, Jamack hadn’t moved to follow Harris. He was bitterly angry and he knew if he followed Harris he wouldn’t be able to keep their fight from being noticed. It was pretty clear to him that he wasn’t going to win this argument. He never had told Jamack why, why he felt like it needed to end again, after everything that had changed between them.

Aware only now that his wrist was hurting where his fingers had dug deep purplish marks, he released his grip. He only had to shuffle over a little to be on his bed. He angrily buried his stupid red eyed tree frog toy under the various soft things he’d piled up to sleep on.

Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it entirely.

_Warmth_

The weather had been cool and dry all week and Harris was feeling its effects. He was sluggish, not just in the morning when he first woke up, but all day. His skin was tight and thin and cracked easily. None of this put him in a good mood.

He snapped at Kwat and she gave him _the look_. He knew he had to do something more than moping around waiting for the weather to change, but what? An image popped into his mind, a bright, happy memory of warmth and moisture and…Jamack. Well, Jamack hadn’t _told_ him he couldn’t go to the ‘terrarium’—as they’d started calling it—without him. Just because Jamack had made it for them when they were hap—together—that didn’t mean he couldn’t still use it. Jamack would want him to, even. Probably. He closed his eyes and thought of sunlight spilling through glass, of warm air dripping with water, enough to bead on his skin…

He told Kwat he was leaving. He didn’t tell her where he was going, and she didn’t ask. The Frogs at the Pond entrance let him go when he lied and said Jamack had given him an errand to run. Harris could only leave the Pond on some kind of business and he knew Jamack—who was a few ranks higher than him and able to leave the Pond without explanation—would back him up if he asked about it.

The terrarium was a fair distance away, but Harris didn’t want to draw any attention by taking a car or dragonfly and having to explain himself. His shiny leather shoes weren’t really made for walking, and his feet—already dry—quickly began to chafe. He sighed, looking around thoroughly. No other Mod Frogs around—and why would there be? Not even Jamack would have any reason to come here, not without Harris. He took off his shoes and hung them around his neck. _Much_ better. He was almost smiling by the time the terrarium came into view.

It wasn’t until Harris stepped inside that he saw that he wasn’t the only one there. Jamack was on one of the lily pads, dozing. His suit jacket was hanging where they had often hung their clothes, over a thick root from the tree that had burst through the ceiling. There was a dragonfly settled on the glass roof, sunning itself.

Harris froze.

Jamack had opened an eye when he heard the door open, sitting up. He adjusted his collar and tie. “Hey. Uh, I can get out of here if you want.” He had made this place for Harris, and especially for when it was cool or dry, which it had been lately. But it was a nice, quiet place, and Jamack had missed coming here since their last break up.

Fuck. Jamack had noticed him before he could slink away. Of course he had. Jamack was nothing if not observant.

Harris closed the door behind him before the blissful heat and condensation could escape. He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “No. No, it’s ok.”

Jamack nodded, then let himself fall flat on the lily pad again, his knees bent at the edge of it so his legs were underwater. “The water’s pretty warm. I know the Pond is always too cold for you.” Harris couldn’t sit at the bottom of the Pond—where the water was warmest—when it was cold, like most of the Frogs could, not without drowning. The water here was shallow enough that the sun kept it pretty warm.

Harris didn’t know what to say to that. With any other Frog he might have been embarrassed to be caught without his shoes, but Jamack was different. Even when they were just colleagues.

He set down his shoes near Jamack’s discarded jacket, but he kept the rest of his suit in place. He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should go to the far side of the pool and ignore Jamack, then joined Jamack on his lily pad. “I wasn’t sure it would still be…intact,” he admitted—and wouldn’t that have been typical, if he’d come all the way out here only to find it as cold and dry as everywhere else? “Have you been coming here to take care of the place?” he asked, almost shyly.

Jamack turned his head to look at Harris, smiling when he joined him. “Yeah, I come check on it once in awhile. It’s pretty sheltered, but not perfectly.” He hadn’t been sure if Harris had come here without him, he was glad to see him here now, to know he was using the place.

Harris slowly uncurled his legs, letting his feet sink into the water beside Jamack’s. He let out a groan of pure bliss as his skin drank in the heat and moisture. He could feel himself being revitalized, his frustration and lethargy of the last few days dissolving. The walk had seemed especially long with his energy being drained by the cold, and he wasn’t honestly sure he could have made it back to the Pond if he had come here only to find the terrarium broken.

Jamack just grinned as Harris slowly melted into the warmth and humidity of the place. He could always tell when Harris wasn’t feeling great. He wasn’t as sensitive to the cold and dry as Harris, not by a long shot, but he certainly noticed when it affected his colleague. “You walked here?” he confirmed. “I can give you a ride back.” With Jamack’s rank, no one questioned him when he took a dragonfly out to do some surveillance. He had several patrols under his control, and watching them, making sure they were on course and doing their jobs, was part of his work. Harris didn’t have that benefit.

Harris nodded, smirking. “Of course you brought a dragonfly.” Jamack had more access to the dragonflies than Harris, a little more freedom to use Pond resources. “But…I won’t turn down a ride.” He wouldn’t turn down anything right now. He felt loose and open and…happy. He told himself it was only the physical environment. Jamack had nothing to do with it. He would have felt just as good—better, even—if he’d been alone.

After a quick glance at Jamack, he slid off the lily pad and lowered himself into the water, cautious of how it tended to make him a little _too_ open. It came up to his waist, but it still wasn’t enough. Ignoring Jamack, he slowly lowered himself until he was fully immersed. It even felt like his _eyes_ were drinking it in through their transparent lids. His whole skin felt alive, making him realize just how shitty he’d been feeling until now.

He had to resurface quickly so he could breathe, but he already felt refreshed. And _warm_. He couldn’t stop grinning.

Jamack’s smile had softened a little as he watched Harris relaxing. He didn’t say anything, but he was glad that they’d both come here today, and he was glad that Harris had this place. There were some advantages Harris had, being a Tree Frog, but mostly it was a lot of struggle. The Mod Frogs openly punished Frogs for visible differences. Conforming to the norm was expected. But Harris couldn’t change his own body, or his needs. Las Vistas, as warm as it was, was still too cold for Harris, and too dry. He belonged in the rainforest.

After several minutes of soaking, Harris was finally satisfied—at least for the time being. He hauled himself out onto the lily pad beside Jamack again, taking care to splash him as much as possible.

Jamack just laughed, giving him a gentle shove. “Asshole.”

“Yeah, you like it.” Harris elbowed him in the side playfully.

“Otherwise I wouldn’t hang out with you,” Jamack agreed.

“Maybe that’s _why_ you hang out with me. You wouldn’t know what to do if I was too nice to you, would you?”

“Maybe,” Jamack chuckled. “And who could I be an asshole to, if not you? Kwat won’t let me get away with that.”

“You’re right, but you’ve never been very good at being an asshole. Not to me, anyway.”

“I am _fantastic_ at absolutely everything.”

“Mm-hmm. Of course you are.” Harris yawned. He hadn’t been sleeping well, either. His body kept waking him because of the cold, warning him that he might die if he stayed still and cold for too long.

“Glad you agree,” Jamack said. “You want to have a nap? You can. If you want.” He knew Harris didn’t sleep well in the cold. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

Harris hesitated. He was reluctant to trust anyone who _told_ him to trust them, but…this was Jamack. And he was so tired. And the heat and humidity felt so good. He yawned again. He’d seen Jamack sleep before, but not for years. Jamack hadn’t seen him fully asleep in a long time, but…

He was thinking himself in circles. He nodded and stretched out on the lily pad flat on his back. He felt vulnerable and exposed, but also too tired and blissful to really care. It wasn’t his preferred way to sleep, but he wasn’t going to curl up in front of Jamack.

Jamack just lay still next to him, quietly, only watching him once he was sure Harris’ eyes were closed.

Harris had only meant to doze, but his tired body took over and he quickly fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. He slowly rolled onto his stomach, tucking his limbs beneath himself and resting his head in front of him.

Jamack hadn’t really seen Harris deeply asleep since he’d fallen asleep in front of him on their bed, in their little hidden bedroom, and then it had only been for a minute or so. Even when they were in a relationship together, they’d never really _slept_ together. Harris had been in Jamack’s burrow a couple of times, but Jamack hadn’t been well in either situation, and he couldn’t remember actually seeing Harris asleep.

But now, Harris was deeply asleep, his arms and legs tucked up close to his body. His eyelids were open, but his beautiful, gold-patterned third eyelids were closed, and the way he breathed, the way he seemed to actually _relax_ , said to Jamack that he was really and truly asleep. He was so tempted to touch him, to reach over to him, but he didn’t want to disturb him. Harris seemed like he’d really needed this.

It was nearly dark when Harris opened his eyes. He blinked, confused about where he was for a moment. He saw movement beside him and turned his head for a better look. Ah. Jamack. He remembered where he was.

Realizing he’d curled up in his sleep, Harris straightened out and sat up as quickly as he could without making it _too_ obvious.

“Did you just watch me this whole time?” he asked, slightly grumpily, but he felt too good to really complain—warm and damp and well-rested for the first time in…maybe in longer than he’d realized, actually.

“Not entirely,” Jamack teased. He’d also watched the dragonfly hunt and watched the clouds pass by overhead.

“Mm-hmm.” Harris shook his head in fond exasperation. He was pleased that Jamack was still as openly odd as ever, at least with him.

“Feel better?”

Harris hesitated a moment, then nodded. He stretched, feeling how loose and limber he was compared to normal, even when the weather was warmer and damper. He hesitated again, then said softly, “Thank you.”

“I was planning to lay here most of the day anyway,” Jamack said with a chuckle.

“Of course you were. Indolent thing,” Harris said fondly, but he couldn’t help being pleased that Jamack had simply laughed it off. Not that he’d expected anything else from him, but it was nice to be able to…relax around another Mod Frog. “I’ve missed this,” he admitted before he could stop himself, realize he was going to say it aloud rather than simply think it.

Jamack wasn’t entirely sure what Harris had missed, but it was nice to hear it anyway. “Me too,” he murmured. He’d missed spending time doing nothing with Harris, relaxing with him. Lately it had just been work, and when they spent time together not working, it was with Kwat. Kwat was their friend, and Jamack was happy to spend time with her, but Harris was different when they were alone.

They were quickly running out of excuses to stay, but Harris didn’t want to leave. Not yet. He glanced around, hoping for inspiration. His eyes lit on the dragonfly. “It’ll be dark soon,” he said slowly. Really, he wasn’t any good at this sort of thing, it was Jamack’s forté. “I’m sure your dragonfly is tired.” He hoped Jamack would understand what he was trying to say—he usually did.

Jamack sat up, leaning back on his elbow. He looked up at the dragonfly. She hadn’t had a particularly hard day. Mostly she’d basked in the sun just like he had. “Are you saying we should stay?” He was surprised. Normally Harris wasn’t the one to try and lengthen their time alone.

Harris nodded silently, looking away from Jamack.

“Alright,” Jamack agreed, lying back down, looking up at the rapidly darkening sky. A few stars were just starting to come out. He couldn’t help but think of the first time he’d brought Harris here, a couple of years ago, when he’d first called Harris his mate. They had broken up since then, though, since that was just what they did, apparently.

“Are you alright?” Harris asked after several minutes of silence. It wasn’t like Jamack to be so quiet.

“Yeah. We just haven’t been here together for awhile,” Jamack laughed softly.

“No. We haven’t.”

“I’m glad you still come here when we’re not together.”

“This is the first time I’ve been back,” Harris admitted.

“Oh,” Jamack chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you came today.”

Harris stretched out a hand until it was between them, still not looking directly at Jamack. “So am I.”

Jamack noticed the hand, could tell it was Harris reaching out for him, but found himself frozen. Did he want to do this again? Did he really want to try again? They had done this so many times, and it had never _once_ ended well for them. Harris made him happy, when they were together, but when they fell apart it was always painful. Even Kwat hated when they broke up, and she wasn’t the one going through it!

He could never seem to keep Harris happy, not for long. He was never as happy alone as he was with Harris, never, but he was also never more hurt than when Harris left.

He felt paralyzed, not able to make a choice, almost afraid to reach out and take Harris’ hand. Could he survive it if this ended badly again?

Would he ever be happy if he _didn’t_ reach out?

Swallowing hard, Jamack sat up.

“I-I’m sorry.” Harris jerked his hand back, utterly humiliated.

“No, no,” Jamack assured him. “It’s not… It’s not that. I missed you too.” He slid over on the lily pad until their knees touched. “I missed this. Us.” There was an unspoken ‘but.’ “I guess I’m just…” He couldn’t voice it. He was afraid. Afraid of trying _and_ of not trying.

Harris let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah. That.” He slowly spread his legs until their whole thighs made contact. “Me too.”

“I felt…” Jamack stopped. Harris never reacted well to hearing about his feelings. He pulled his legs up under himself and laid his head in Harris’ lap, looking up at him. He was smiling, but he looked sad. He didn’t finish his sentence.

Harris nodded. He bent down and kissed Jamack’s forehead without saying anything.

Even though he felt like he was stepping off a precipice, Jamack pulled Harris into a real kiss. It wasn’t something they’d ever done often, but Jamack had always liked it.

Harris closed his eyes and kissed him back. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he was underwater, but for once he wasn’t afraid.


	2. Love & Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> these were also somewhere after Under Glass
> 
> We have a headcanon that until Froglets are past the age where a huge percentage of them die every year, they only get letter names, as a way to remind Frogs and Froglets not to get too attached. Mod Frogs are messed up lol
> 
> Rain was partially inspired by a post by IntegrityProductions, about RETFs mating during the rain.

_Love_

Harris didn’t particularly enjoy being assigned to Froglet-teaching duty, but he knew Jamack did, and he liked watching Jamack being so obviously in his element. Mostly he stood off to the side, arms folded across his chest, and let Jamack deal with the little pests—correcting a stance here, adjusting the way fingers were folded into a fist there. They were paired off for sparring practice.

His attention was drawn to a sudden commotion down the middle of the line—two Froglets had teamed up and were both fighting two opponents rather than their assigned ones. They worked together so smoothly, grinning and calling out to each other. Harris felt a pang—it reminded him so much of the way he and Jamack had been able to coordinate so effortlessly as Froglets. Until they learned that they _shouldn’t_ , at least not so openly, and they’d stopped. How old were these students again? Old enough that they should know better, he was sure.

Well, this was something he could take care of, especially because Jamack was busy talking to another Froglet and hadn’t noticed yet. He strode over to reprimand them, separate them if need be.

Harris’ attention to the fight caught Jamack’s eye and he immediately knew why he was correcting them. He felt the same pang, missing that reckless cooperation of their childhood, that fierce friendship. Now it was something silent, hidden away like any other weakness. Jamack looked away, not wanting to watch Harris scold the Froglets for it. He knew it was the right move, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Was it better to get it out of them now, when they were young? To crush that bond between them so it could never grow any further? Or was it better to teach them to keep it a secret?

Was that kind of trust really so bad?

Jamack’s attention turned from the Froglets to Harris. Was it such a weakness, to care for someone?

He snapped himself back to the Froglets around him. “Keep your balance, E, you’d be dead if this was a real fight! S, watch your flank, don’t let anyone get behind you.” He urged the other Froglets on, steadfastly ignoring the twisting tangle of feelings in his chest. He kept looking up at Harris.

Harris felt Jamack’s attention on him and glanced at him. There was a strange look on Jamack’s face, a very Jamack-ish one. He choked down the words he’d been about to say, giving the two Froglets a rough shove apart. “You’re fighting one-on-one,” he reminded them gruffly. He couldn’t help looking at Jamack—for what? Approval? He didn’t need that. Jamack wasn’t in charge of teaching the class. Harris could intervene as he pleased.

He stepped back. Watched the two Froglets glance at each other with what he was sure they thought was stealth, then get back to their assigned sparring partners. He nodded and walked away, retreating to his place at the edge of the group again.

Slowly, after making sure the entire Year’s worth of Froglets were working hard, Jamack followed Harris, leaning against a wall to watch the sparring silently. He made eye contact with Harris for a moment, hoping that his expression was as unreadable as he thought it was. Harris hadn’t scolded them, not the way he maybe should have. He’d been thinking along the same lines as Jamack.

Harris smirked at Jamack. “Remember, you can’t teach them _too_ well, or too many will survive.” He felt like he needed to say something cruel, to let out some of the ire he should have unleashed on the stupid Froglets.

Jamack punched his arm, none-too-gently. He didn’t really think their lessons had much to do with the survival of the group, honestly. They certainly used their fighting skills, but it wasn’t a matter of how well they were taught so much as how vicious and stubborn they were, how hard they fought for what they wanted. There were maybe a hundred Froglets in this Year right now, but by next year they’d have lost about ten percent of their numbers. It was just part of growing up.

“We’ve got a patrol tonight,” he reminded him, not looking directly at him.

“Oh, really? I’d forgotten.” Harris grinned and rubbed his arm.

“Good thing you have me to remind you.”

One of the Froglets had been pinned mercilessly by his larger opponent and there was no way he was getting up without help. Back when Jamack had been J, he might have gotten himself involved. He had always hated the abusive Froglets of his own Year growing up. Really, that was how Harris and him had become friends with Kwat—K at that point—little J had never known when to back down. Now he just watched, silently, taking comfort in the fact that none of the bullies of his Year had survived to lose their tails, partially due to himself, Kwat, and Harris. He had to let these Froglets sort it out on their own, just like their instructors had. Even though he had resented them for it at the time.

Harris’ watch beeped—finally! He turned to Jamack. Let him get the little vermins’ attention and let them know they were done.

Jamack pushed himself off the wall, clapping his hands to get the Froglets’ attention. “You’re dismissed. Keep practicing. You’re with Harris and me again tomorrow afternoon, so I’d better see some improvements.” It was a very familiar low-level threat that many instructors left the Froglets with at the end of sessions. Jamack broke up a couple of fights that neither of the Froglets wanted to give up on, finally pulling the bigger Froglet away from her victim. “Get out of here.”

The pair that Harris had separated were leaving together, talking quietly, grinning at each other. Jamack stifled a smile.

Harris followed Jamack’s gaze and frowned. Should he have been harder on the Froglets? Probably. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it.

He waited until the last of the students had left, then nudged Jamack. “Let’s eat before we have to go.”

Jamack nodded, heading to the dining hall with Harris beside him.

*

Their patrol that night had led them to the Terrarium. Jamack had started calling the greenhouse that jokingly awhile ago, only to have Harris pick it up and start using it too. He was sure that Harris didn’t know what a terrarium _was_ , otherwise he’d have been offended by the idea of being kept in one, like a pet frog. But he really did seem to need the extra heat and humidity to feel good.

Jamack liked being in there at night. It was dark inside. The thick foliage that protected the greenhouse kept most of the remaining city lights from brightening up the place. The only light that shone down was from the stars, and the moon.

Harris had his head pillowed on Jamack’s shoulder, enjoying his post-orgasm calm. His eyelids drifted closed occasionally, but he trusted that Jamack would wake him up and get them back to the Pond on time. He was warm, even though the sun had set, and damp and…happy.

Jamack stifled a yawn. He would have loved to just sleep here with Harris, but he had never really liked the idea of sleeping anywhere outside of the Pond, even with back-up.

Slowly, he stroked his fingers over Harris’ shoulder, digging in slightly where he’d left bitemarks.

Harris shivered, letting out a little hiss of pleasure and arching his shoulder into Jamack’s hand.

“You’re so sensitive now,” he teased, not letting up.

“Mm-hmm. And whose fault is that?” Harris snorted. “Fuuuck,” he moaned, “you’re going to get me going again if you keep that up!”

“I’m happy to take the blame. And to get you going again,” he laughed. He pinched the sensitive skin between his forefinger and thumb, watching Harris’ body react with a smirk.

“Are you _trying_ to kill me?” Harris laughed.

“Not at the moment,” Jamack said, grinning. “Ask me to stop and I will.”

“Not gonna.”

“Mmm, good,” Jamack purred, sitting up and throwing a leg over Harris, settling himself in his lap. He bent over him and bit him, on the opposite shoulder. He loved feeling Harris reacting to it, no matter how many times he did it, it was a thrill every time.

“Nghh…!” Harris shivered and cried out, head arching back and eyes fluttering closed.

Jamack groaned as he felt Harris’ erection growing against his own as he rolled his hips back and forth over Harris’ groin. Harris’ cloaca was slick and open against Jamack’s erection, his body still recovering after having been fucked earlier in the evening. He teased Harris for awhile, just grinding them together slowly.

Harris winced and shook his head. “I’m too sore for _that_ again.”

“I know,” Jamack assured him, digging his fingers into the newest bite mark. Harris’ skin was far more sensitive than his own, it didn’t take much to make him sore the next day. He slid forwards just enough to line Harris’ erection up with his own entrance. His whole body seemed to throb with pleasure as Harris slid into him all the way to the base. He tipped his head back, letting out a low groan.

“Ahhhh, that’s better,” Harris gasped, hands reaching out blindly until they found Jamack’s arms. His fingers curled around them, clamping down. “Fuck, you feel so good!” It seemed like such a…trite thing to say, and he wished he could say more, but he didn’t have the words.

Harris’ grip was strong, his fingertips digging in. Jamack didn’t fight it, he let Harris hold him tightly. He rocked his hips forwards, letting Harris’ erection slip out a couple inches, before taking him as deep as he could again with a panting moan.

Harris whined when Jamack started pulling out, his fingers tightening, trying to pull Jamack back down onto him. He let out a deep sigh of satisfaction when Jamack pressed down again, filling himself. He laughed wildly, legs spasming beneath Jamack. “I-I don’t think I’ll last…” he murmured once he could breathe again, speak.

Jamack made a plaintive sound. His inner muscles tightened around Harris. “Fuck, please, don’t stop—!” he gasped. Everything felt good, but Jamack was right on the edge of frustration. The pleasure was building, the sensations flooding through his body. He was close to hitting a peak of some kind, but if they stopped too soon he knew he’d end up disappointed.

“Won’t,” Harris gritted out, shaking his head. His fingers dug into Jamack’s arms, but he wouldn’t cum. Not yet. Though he also knew that if Jamack even _breathed_ on the bites he’d left earlier, he’d cum instantly.

Jamack rode him hard and fast, his body arching over Harris, throbbing around his erection every time it slid as deep as it could go. His body was already tired from their sex earlier, and now it felt like he was running on nothing; his legs were trembling with the effort of lifting and lowering himself over Harris’ erection. He felt completely out of control, in a way he usually didn’t. He could usually at least control his _volume_ , but this time around he was practically screaming in between frantic panting breaths, begging Harris whenever he could manage a word or two. “Please! Please, please!” Harris’ grip on his arms seemed to tighten even further and Jamack’s frustration only grew as he was unable to stroke himself. The pleasure was still mounting, slowly overpowering everything else Jamack was experiencing. It seemed to take an eternity for him to slip across the boundary, but when he finally did it was explosive. “ _Yes_!” His vision went white, his inner muscles tightened like a vice, and he came across Harris. He was too out of breath to even manage a scream, only ragged breaths. He felt like he might fall over, anchored only by Harris’ hands on his arms.

Freed by Jamack’s dramatic climax, Harris followed a moment later, and just as violently. He bucked his hips hard enough to actually lift Jamack a little, pounding as hard as he could, filling Jamack with spurt after spurt. He gasped in air when he could. He didn’t want to stop. Not now. Not yet. Not ever. He laughed again, hands dropping limp at his sides. His fingers scrabbled wildly at the lily pad beneath them a moment later as yet another wave crushed him.

“Yes, yes, fuck,” Jamack looked down at him, still reeling, still riding the wave of his orgasm. “I love you.” The words came out so easily and for a few moments, Jamack hardly realized he’d said something …wrong.

Harris’ eyes went wide, his body went completely still. Jamack didn’t say anything further, didn’t repeat himself. Could he just pretend he hadn’t heard? Part of him wanted—yearned—to tell Jamack he felt the same, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. Even though it was true.

As Jamack caught his breath, he realized Harris was uncomfortably tense next to him. He’d never meant to say it, he’d never planned to tell Harris anything like that. He’d felt it for so long, but it wasn’t meant to be said.

He felt like he should apologize, but it was too late, he couldn’t take back the words he’d said, and he couldn’t explain it. It shouldn’t have felt so natural to say, it shouldn’t have _been_ in his thoughts clearly enough to have come out at all! He stayed quiet. He’d be lucky if their relationship survived those stupid words.

_Rain_

The Boss didn’t care if her Frogs were currently getting along or not—if they fought and one died, they had clearly been too weak to be a Mod Frog and it was better to have them gone. There was only so long Jamack and Harris could use Kwat as a buffer before they were forced to work together again, go out on patrol alone again. The last break up had been enormously painful for both of them and Jamack seemed to be holding onto his anger and frustration towards Harris a lot longer this time.

Harris had missed Jamack so much, and it was so hard to remain aloof and pretend that he wasn’t bursting, aching with the need to tell Jamack _everything_. To just sit still in the car and stare out the window and look for anything odd.

They’d gone out a few times together now, and while Jamack’s initial stiffness—and his own—had subsided, he almost wished he _would_ see something odd. Just to give them something nice and safe—well, relatively speaking—to talk about. Something besides the minefield of their emotions.

Though Jamack had been forced to relax around Harris—there was really only so long a Frog could remain angry and tense and when they worked together so often, it couldn’t last—he was still hurt and miserable. They didn’t talk much when they were together and that alone was painful. Jamack _liked_ to talk, but how could he chatter on about nothing and everything the way he usually did when he couldn’t talk about the one thing that mattered with Harris? When Harris could barely even look at him? Even talking to Kwat had been hard for the first week and he couldn’t help but resent Harris for that. 

Harris could usually tell when it was about to rain. In the worst possible way. His skin first felt itchy and hot, like he was about to molt, and then…then he became utterly, irredeemably, _insatiably_ horny. His greatest achievement in life so far was that he was _reasonably sure_ Jamack hadn’t figured out the pattern.

This storm took him by surprise.

The sky lit up from end to end in white light, leaving a burning afterglow in Harris’ vision. A scant second later the thunder crashed over them, shaking the car slightly and making the dragonfly swerve. He heard Jamack cry out beside him and instinctually did what he’d always done during thunderstorms—he reached out and grabbed Jamack’s hand.

Jamack hardly had any time to react to the lightning before the thunder hit. It drew a sound from him, completely unbidden, before he had time to shut down his fear. He’d hated thunder ever since they were Tadpoles. It used to frighten him to the point of helplessly croaking until the storm was over. He’d gotten better control of himself since then, but the thunderous noise still shot him full of adrenaline. Harris had grabbed his hand and Jamack pulled it free without looking over at him, annoyed.

“Fuck,” Jamack sighed.

Dragonflies didn’t fly well in heavy rain, and now that the thunder had faded, Jamack could hear the rain starting, not over them yet, but getting closer. He whipped the car around, urging the dragonfly to pull them faster. There was only one spot he could think of that would be a good place to hide from the rain with both a car and a dragonfly, and it was the garage where they’d first had sex.

Of course. The world just fucking loved tormenting him, didn’t it?

Harris opened his mouth to protest when he saw where Jamack was taking them, but he quietly closed it again. As usual, he couldn’t fault Jamack’s logic—they really didn’t have anywhere else to go.

The drive there was a race against the storm, the vehicle careening around corners and whipping past the buildings and greenery that had grown out of them. As soon as they got there, he hopped out to lift up the garage door, forcing it up so the dragonfly could pull the car in. The rain had caught up with them, unfortunately, but the dragonfly seemed to be in alright shape when Jamack released it from its tether, letting it settle on top of the car, since there wasn’t much room in the garage.

Harris leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms behind his head and trying to look casual. Of course, this left his front totally exposed—his erection was pounding as hard as the rain outside, and his cloaca was nearly as wet. He quickly crossed his legs, then folded his hands over his lap for good measure.

Once the dragonfly was comfortable, Jamack took care of himself next. He took off his wet jacket and hung it on the side mirror before getting into the backseat and flopping down on his back. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t trust that Harris would stay awake too, so he just listened to the rain pounding on the roof and pouring through the gutters.

To his shame, Harris had to actually look away while Jamack took off his coat, or he was afraid he’d jump his colleague. It didn’t help that, between wearing one less layer of clothing and all the moisture in the air, Jamack’s scent was extra strong. Harris _wanted_ him. Even facing straight ahead, he could still see bits of Jamack rising from the backseat like bits of wood floating in the Pond.

It took Harris a few long, slow breaths after Jamack had settled behind him before he could calm down enough to speak. He cleared his throat and hopped out of the car. “I’m gonna go, uh…look out the door. Make sure nothing followed us.”

“Nothing followed us,” Jamack countered. “Don’t open the door, we don’t want anyone seeing there’s room in here to hide.” Harris was acting odd, but Jamack couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was wrong. He seemed like he was almost overstimulated, but there wasn’t much here to overstimulate him.

“I won’t open the fucking door,” Harris said, without ire. His hands wouldn’t stop moving, twisting together, brushing his sleeves, his collar, his face, even his buttons. Despite the chill and dampness in the air from the storm, his skin felt hot and tight, like if he stretched too hard, too far, he’d pop right out of it like a sausage, but he couldn’t _stop moving_. Especially because, if he stood still too long, it would readily become apparent to Jamack just _why_ he was twitching around so much. He could only be glad his coat was cut differently than Jamack’s, falling a fair distance below his midline and partially covering his erection, and the black-on-black fabric helped conceal it as well, but he couldn’t really hope to hide it for long in such close quarters.

Fuck. Jamack’s scent had completely filled the garage, filling Harris’ nose, his pores, his lungs. Every breath was Jamack, every heartbeat.

He was definitely going to pop like a sausage.

“If you’re keeping watch, I’m going to nap,” Jamack warned him. If Harris was up and alert, they should be alright. He seemed almost anxious. He was twitchy, unable to stop moving. Jamack couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Harris wasn’t the one who was scared of thunder.

“Fine, fine,” Harris told him without turning around or looking back. “You sleep. I’ll…yeah.” If Jamack slept and Harris was quiet enough, he might be able to get himself off with the sound of the rain and occasional boom of thunder to cover any sounds he might make.

Jamack rolled so he was facing the seat, trying to relax. It was hard when he also wanted to be prepared for another boom of thunder, ready to control himself. Every little rumble made his shoulders tighten, his eyes squeeze tightly shut. A particularly loud crack came just as he was finally relaxing and he flinched, throwing himself up and against the far window with a yelp.

Staring at the closed garage door was boring, especially because Harris could still hear Jamack twitching and moving around, clearly not asleep. It was almost a relief to hear a soft cry from behind him after the latest thunder. He whirled. Jamack was sitting up, eyes wide, throat inflated for a full-blown croak.

Harris hurried back to him, pretending he wasn’t running. He opened the back door and slid in next to Jamack. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, though he wasn’t sure even he could have said exactly what he was apologizing for.

Jamack just grimaced, trying to take slow breaths, the way they’d been taught to prevent croaking out of fear. His fingers were gripping the leather of the seat hard and he forced himself to let go. “It’s fine, I’m fine,” he muttered.

“You have to have _some_ sort of weakness, don’t you?” Harris teased lightly. “Being scared of thunder is—” He bit off the word ‘cute’ before it could escape. “—One,” he finished lamely. He shouldn’t have mentioned Jamack’s fear directly, but it was too late for that. Besides, something about this moment felt vulnerable and open, almost intimate. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his erection’s part.

Jamack just gave him an unimpressed look.

“What? I’m scared of…things…too.” Harris had no doubt that Jamack knew exactly what each and every one of those fears was and exactly how to exploit them, but that wasn’t the point.

“Yeah, I’m aware,” he shot back.

“I’ve never told anyone about it. Or done anything about it. Fuck, I’ve never even teased you about it, have I?”

Jamack shook his head. “Probably should’ve.” Harris had always acted as though Jamack’s fear was annoying and had often called him names when they were younger, but he’d never truly used it against Jamack. And once in awhile, he’d even comforted him. Huh. It was funny to think Harris was as soft on him as he was on Harris.

“Yeah. Probably.” Harris slumped sideways so he was leaning on one hand, offering a little comfort and support to Jamack if he wanted it. If he’d take it, after how Harris had ended things between them the last time.

Jamack kept his shoulder against the window, looking away. Harris was trying to patch things up between them, had been trying for weeks, but Jamack wasn’t sure if things could go back to the way they were. And even if they could, he wasn’t sure he wanted that. As stupid as it was to put his trust in someone who had repeatedly broken it, he had. He always gave everything he had to them and though he hated to admit it right now, he loved Harris. It wasn’t an easy revelation, but having his heart broken—again—had forced him to face it. It wouldn’t have hurt so much if he hadn’t cared. He ran his fingers over the side of the car door, too alert to doze off anymore.

Harris leaned against the other window with a soft sigh. It was no more and no less than what he deserved, and he knew it, but that didn’t take the sting out of it.

Soon enough he was filled with restless motion again, his hands darting around, fingers drumming the car door. His erection wasn’t subsiding at all, and neither was the rain. They both just kept pounding, drowning out all his other thoughts. Maybe there was a quiet back part of the garage where he could slip away and at least take the edge off. He knew it wouldn’t truly stop until the storm had passed, but getting off once was better than nothing at all, just sitting there and waiting with the object of his desire who—rightfully—hated him.

He stretched slowly, glancing meaningfully out the window. “Well. I guess I should…” He opened the door without explaining himself, though he couldn’t help hoping Jamack would stop him.

Jamack gave him a curious look, but didn’t say anything.

“Yeah.” Harris hopped out of the car again. He took a quick pass by the door they’d entered from, just so he could say he’d done something remotely useful, then circled back around the car.

There was a small office towards the back of the building, isolated from the rest of the big, open room except for its broken windows in and beside the door. It _might_ work, if he was very quiet. Or managed to time himself perfectly with the thunder. Harris slouched inside, casting about for danger as he always did when entering somewhere new. Or anywhere, really. There was no movement, no bad smells to indicate that something was currently sheltering here or might return at any moment. There was even a pile of discarded human clothes in one corner that would make a suitable nest, he decided—he was only going to get it messy, anyway.

He waffled for a moment over the decision to get completely undressed—making it more difficult for him to leave in a hurry if he needed too—or keep his suit on and risk making a mess of his clothes as well.

Fuck it. He’d waited long enough, denied himself long enough. He stripped down to his shirt and tie—which would be mostly covered by his jacket—and tossed the rest of his clothing carelessly out of sight. He lay down on the rough, blue clothing, shifting it a little this way, a little that way, until he had a passable nest. He could still hear the rain drumming on the roof, the sound echoing the frantic _need_ in his blood.

Closing his eyes, he wrapped a hand around himself and started stroking.

For awhile, Jamack just sat miserably in the car, trying not to flinch whenever the thunder cracked. It was getting farther away, less immediate, but he still hated every second of it. It was hard to keep his mind off it and finally he groaned, opening the door and getting out. He stretched, slowly, looking around for Harris. Nowhere in sight, of course. Was he out in the rain? Jamack heard a quiet sound from the back and followed it.

Harris was flat on his back with his eyes closed and his knees drawn up towards his chest. He had one hand wrapped around his erection, and two fingers inside his cloaca. He let out a soft moan before gritting his teeth again to stifle any further noises.

Jamack felt his breath catch. He always loved seeing Harris naked, and especially when he was aroused, but he’d never seen him touch _himself_ before. The sight sent a pulse through him, right down to his groin. Fuck. He was frozen in the doorway, trapped between anger and arousal.

“Jamack…!” Harris moaned again, even more softly, without opening his eyes. No matter what he did to himself, no matter what temporary relief he bought himself, he knew from bitter experience that it would never compare to what Jamack could do, what Jamack _had_ done in the past. What he could never have again, except in memories and imagination.

Eyes narrowed, Jamack stalked back to the car and got into the back again. He felt like a Froglet having a tantrum, he felt stupid and immature, but he couldn’t help it. He took a few slow, deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

_Harris was thinking about him._

That _asshole_.

Harris’ eyes snapped open and he sat up as though he’d been struck by the lightning around him upon hearing the car door open and close. Oh fuck. Oh no.

Finally beginning to go soft, even though he hadn’t quite finished, Harris wiped himself clean on the human clothing and quickly pulled on his suit. He didn’t want to leave the office, didn’t want to face Jamack, but he’d have to do it eventually and he might as well get it over with. He could see Jamack’s silhouette through the rear window of the car, and he approached it like it held a member of a rival mute gang.

Jamack glared at him. He was honestly surprised that Harris hadn’t just tucked himself away in the office until he absolutely had to face his colleague. Harris never dealt with embarrassment well.

“Ah…” Harris began, but he trailed off when he saw Jamack’s expression. Hunching his shoulders, he went and sat with his back against the garage door, huddled over on himself and trying to ignore the primal sound of the rain outside.

It was almost an hour before the rain stopped. The thunder had stopped some time ago, thankfully. Jamack got out of the car and called the dragonfly down to hook it back up to the harness. For now, he ignored Harris.

Harris, seeing the stormy look on Jamack’s face, chose to ride on top of the car. At least the rain had stopped, and with it his frantic urges.

For about a minute, Jamack let Harris sit up top alone. Once he was sure the dragonfly was on course and knew where they were going, he climbed out the window and up onto the roof of the car. He looked at Harris askance. “What the fuck, Harris.”

Harris groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I _know_!” he wailed, muffled.

“I honestly don’t give a shit if you’re going to sneak off and…” Jamack sighed. “It’s fine. But I _heard_ you, you dumb fucking asshole.”

“I’m sorry! You weren’t supposed to hear me!”

“I meant I heard you say my _name_.”

Harris eyes widened with utter horror. _“What?_ No I didn’t!” Not out loud, anyway. Had he? Was Jamack just fucking with him, trying to get him to react?

“Honestly, are you _trying_ to fuck with me? Is this just…your way of making me miserable?” Jamack had to grit his teeth before he could say anymore, fighting back the emotional tidal wave that threatened to drown him.

“What? No! Of course not!” Huh. Apparently Jamack _hadn’t_ been fucking with him.

“Then _why_?!”

“I just…urgh… Jamack, can we please just…?” Harris begged, doubting he’d get any mercy, or that he really deserved any in the first place.

“Just keep pretending that you don’t want to be my mate?”

“Oh, god,” Harris groaned, very softly. “That’s not what I meant,” he said evasively.

“Then why did you say my name?”

“Because I was thinking about you, you idiot! What else would I be thinking about? _Who_ else would I be thinking about?”

“Then why aren’t we together?” he snapped.

“You _know_ why,” Harris told him beseechingly.

“I don’t.”

Harris groaned, finally uncovering his face and looking up. “I told you.”

“Did you mean it?”

“I—I’m doing this for you.”

“What makes you think I want you to?”

“You don’t have to. You…you _care_ too much, think too much, feel too much. There’s not much I can do. Not much I’m good for. But I can do this for you. I can _give_ you this. _Please.”_ Until now he’d always maintained the façade that he was doing this for selfish reasons, and maybe he’d continue to do so in the future, but for now he couldn’t do anything but admit the truth. He had to protect Jamack from himself, from the weakness that was being in love.

But he’d never been very good at protecting Jamack.

Jamack punched him in the arm, hard. “You’re a moron.”

Harris snorted. “Yeah. I don’t think there’s ever been any question of that.”

“I don’t want you to _protect_ me from something that makes me happy.” Jamack’s voice was quiet. “That isn’t protecting me.”

“Is,” Harris grunted, looking away again.

“So you get to decide what I want?” Jamack pressed him.

“No! No, that’s not what I—fuck, Jamack!” As usual Jamack had talked circles around him, easily.

“Because I sure as fuck don’t want my heart broken.”

Harris swallowed hard, turning his head even farther until he could just barely see Jamack at the edges of his vision. “I don’t want that either.” It was a powerful, dangerous admission on Jamack’s part, one Harris could have taken advantage of. But he didn’t, and he wouldn’t, and he was almost certain Jamack knew that—or he probably wouldn’t have said it, if Harris was being honest with himself.

“You’re doing a shit job of showing it.”

“Yeah, I know. I really am.” Harris gave a rather dismal laugh. “That’s what I do.”

“You just torture both of us,” Jamack sighed. “I don’t know why you keep doing it. And I don’t know why I keep going back.”

“I do. And I don’t either.” Harris realized he was trembling. His hands curled into tight-knuckled fists. “And I don’t _want_ to,” he admitted. “Hurt you, that is.”

“Then _stop_.” Jamack gave a soft groan. This was awful, and stupid. Why were they even talking about this? Could he really be dumb enough to try this _again_?

“I will. I promise. Jamack, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t want you to see, to hear…” Harris briefly considered just dropping off the car so he wouldn’t have to continue this conversation, but they weren’t high enough or going fast enough for it to make any real difference.

The apology surprised Jamack. “You are sorry about it.”

“Yes!” Harris risked glancing at him. “Of course I am,” he added more softly. “I just… And then I couldn’t…”

“I really hate caring about you sometimes.”

Harris gave a wet little laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I would too. But I’ll stop. Like you asked.”

“…I meant stop hurting me, idiot.”

“What? Oh. I thought you meant… Really?”

Jamack smacked the back of his head, but fairly gently. “Yes!”

“Ow. Wow. Oh, wow.” Harris had never anticipated this—not just the possibility of them getting together again, but of having it be open, at least between them. Honest about their motives.

“I do care about you,” Jamack said. “And I won’t stop. But I don’t know if we can… It might take a while.” For all that Harris had hurt him, he’d also had his best interests in mind. Still, Jamack wasn’t sure he was ready to slip back into their easy relationship right away. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help shying away from that closeness. So many times now, it had meant he’d been hurt. There was only so many times a Frog would touch something that burned him, right?

Harris could only nod, unable to meet Jamack’s eyes directly, like the coward he was. “I find your terms…acceptable,” he said, with just a hint of laughter.

“You really want this?” Jamack put pressure on him again. He wanted to hear Harris say it.

Harris nodded emphatically, hoping that would be enough to satisfy Jamack but not really expecting that it would be.

“Say it.”

“Ohhhh, Jamack…!” Harris groaned, pleading with his eyes.

“I want to hear it.”

“You’re a horrible Frog.”

“I think I deserve a little reassurance, don’t you?”

“…Yes.” Harris could admit that much. “I really want this,” he whispered. He couldn’t look at Jamack while he said it, but he’d _said_ it.

Jamack caught Harris’ hand and pinned it to the roof of the car. “You can have it,” _Fuck, I’m such a hopeless idiot_ , “but only if you stop ending it,” he warned, sharply.

A long shiver rolled down Harris’ spine, and he didn’t even have the excuse that it was raining. He nodded helplessly. In that moment he would have given anything, done anything, said anything, if only to make this last.

Jamack released him, turning back to the road. He felt a lot of things, some of them conflicting, and for now he decided to just not focus on them. They’d unravel eventually.

Harris couldn’t help his disappointment when Jamack looked away—he’d been hoping Jamack’s action would lead to something a bit more…satisfying. That was ok. They’d get there eventually. They could try again, and that was the important thing.


	3. Affiliation & Deserted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last two Off & On extras! 
> 
> After this we're starting our Froglets series. Before Kipo is finished!

_Affiliation_

It was early in May, the beginning of mating season. The Pond was abuzz, as it always was during these two weeks. Jamack had been extra amorous with Harris over the last couple days, to the point where Harris tried to stay away from him when they were at the Pond.

A Frog joined Harris at the edge of a lily pad, one he only vaguely knew. She was a few years younger than him, not one of the few Frogs left of his Year. She sat next to him, letting her legs dangle in the cool water like his. “Do you have a moment, sir?” Being younger, she spoke to him respectfully. She pulled a small waterproof tin out of her pocket and opened it, pulling out a small square of chocolate and offering it to him. Clearly she was either about to ask a favour, or trading for information.

Harris glanced around for Jamack, but he was nowhere in sight. Why would this Frog want to talk to _him_? He wasn’t the one who…talked. “…Alright,” he said at last, when it became clear she wasn’t going away and it wasn’t actually Jamack she’d wanted to speak to.

She smiled, hesitated briefly, then began. “You know Jamack pretty well…” she started, hoping that he’d pick up on what she wanted without coming out and saying it.

“I-I don’t know if I’d say _that_.” Harris frantically looked around. Where the fuck was Jamack? They were supposed to meet here!

“You patrol together though,” she pressed him. “Do you know if he’ll be taking a mate this year?” Generally before asking directly, Frogs tended to find out as much information as they could secretly; it was far easier for her to ask someone who knew Jamack rather than outright asking Jamack.

Harris’ eyes widened, and it took a moment before he could regain control of his expression. “I don’t know about that! Why would you ask me?” He scrambled to his feet, frowning down at her. “I think you should leave.” It wasn’t quite as commanding as it perhaps should have been, but he was badly flustered.

“Oh,” she said, standing as well. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought maybe he would have mentioned it.” She seemed embarrassed now. “Excuse me.”

He managed a brisk nod and turned his back on her. His throat sac began rapidly inflating and deflating with distress, and it was all he could do to suppress any sound from coming out.

Jamack arrived just after she had turned to go, and she fled, fearing that he had overheard. Jamack looked back at her as she left, then to Harris. “What was that about?” Harris was clearly upset now, though he was doing his best to hide it.

“Nothing,” Harris snapped. “Let’s get out of here.”  
  


_Deserted_

Jamack and Kwat came back to the Pond after a particularly long stake-out of Scooter Skunk territory. The Skunks were fixing up some new vehicles and the Mod Frogs were hoping to steal them once they were in good shape. They had taken turns watching the garage over the course of two days, sleeping in shifts. They hadn’t driven, or even taken a dragonfly, it was stealthier to hop, so they had.

Jamack was tired. As he stepped out of the Pond’s office, he saw two cars pulling in, some injured Frogs riding them, others walking alongside. He caught the attention of one of the younger Frogs. “Report,” he said. There were benefits to having a high rank.

“We were raiding Hamster burrows for food. We were caught by two Umlaut Snäkes and we scattered. We managed to bring back a half-dozen Hamsters. There were some injuries and…” the Frog gave another passing Mod Frog a look that pleaded for help. She received no response. “…and two presumed casualties.”

Jamack caught her panicked expression and he _knew_ in that moment exactly what she was afraid of telling him. His heart stopped. Everything around him seemed to blur. “Who was left behind?”

“Ira and…Harris.”

He grilled her for details, for anything she knew. He asked a few of the other Frogs who had been there. The story became clear. Ira, young and inexperienced at nineteen, had hopped up a cactus to avoid a Snäke and gotten stuck, impaled on a few spikes. Harris, who could climb far better than any of the other Frogs, had gone after her, hoping to get her down before the cars left. The rest of the Frogs fled, returning to the cars with what prey they could carry, fighting off the Snäkes as they retreated. They hadn’t waited.

Jamack didn’t bother dismissing the Frogs he’d been interrogating. He looked for Kwat for a few frantic minutes before finally running into her leaving the dining hall.

She seemed to be looking for him too. “They have fresh Hamster—” Her words stopped. Jamack looked _frightened_. “What happened?”

“They left Harris. Umlaut territory. Let’s go.”

Kwat nodded. She was tired and she knew Jamack was just as tired, but both of them prepared to leave as quickly as they could. She grabbed water and a first aid kit from her burrow while Jamack requisitioned a car. Jamack drove, and Kwat hated every second of it. He’d become an excellent driver, but the way he took turns and spun the car around when he was in a rush made her ill. A dragonfly might have been faster, but if they found two injured Frogs they would need the car to take them home safely.

They drove into the desert, headed in the direction of the most numerous collection of Hamster burrows. The other Frogs had marked on the map where they were headed. That was what reports were for, and Jamack was suddenly incredibly glad that Mod Frogs did so much paperwork.

They had to stop the car a ways away, knowing that the vibration would attract Snäkes. Kwat and Jamack unchained the dragonfly and headed out on its back. There was blood in the sand, and Jamack was willing to bet it was mostly from Hamsters. Any tracks that might have been there had blown away with the wind. The sun was starting to set now, but the dark wouldn’t deter either the Frogs or any Snäkes who might be out.

Jamack was close to yelling for Harris. He was fighting the urge to croak, loudly. He didn’t know what to expect. If the Snäkes had gotten them, there might not be any sign of them. They would have been eaten by now, most likely. He stroked the side of the dragonfly, trying to keep his worries at bay.

Together, they checked the cactuses around where the fight had been. Finally they found it; bloody marks up the side of a cactus. There they were, near the top, both alive, Ira clinging to the cactus next to Harris. Jamack felt like time finally slowed, as though it had been going far too fast ever since he’d found out that Harris could be in danger, that he could be dead. He felt almost weak with relief.

Harris’ sensitive skin was burned from being exposed in the sun all day, beginning to crack and peel wherever the light and heat had touched him. He was faint from dehydration, barely clinging to consciousness, knowing he’d be easy pickings for the Snäkes if he passed out. Then Jamack showed up. Of course he did. What a cruel trick for his subconscious to play on him. “Go ’way,” he muttered feebly. He tried to close his eyes to block out the vision, but he couldn’t get his main eyelids to close, only his transparent ones. Maybe he’d still be able to see Jamack with his eyes closed. It wouldn’t surprise him.

Ira was bloody from the spikes and in similar shape, dehydrated and exhausted. She didn’t even lift her head to look at their rescuers.

Kwat and Jamack exchanged looks. Jamack had already formulated a plan for if they had to rescue them from on top of a cactus. “We’ll use the dragonfly to get them down. One at a time. You and Ira fly back to the car. Then you stay there with her and send the dragonfly back for me and Harris.”

Very carefully, Jamack hopped off the dragonfly and onto the cactus. It was nearly impossible to land without being pricked. He only got stabbed a little, barely breaking the skin. He got a good grip on the young Mod Frog, who flailed and croaked when he grabbed her, fearful. He carefully lowered her into Kwat’s waiting arms.

Kwat got Ira settled on the dragonfly before tossing a bottle of water to Jamack. She cued the dragonfly and they went zipping back towards the car.

Jamack was forced to hold on to some spikes to keep himself on the cactus. There was a sharp stabbing feeling in his calf, and another against his hip. “Harris, open your eyes.”

“No.” The word came out muffled and indistinct. He would have gotten a rap on the knuckles if one of their instructors heard him. No, he wasn’t a Froglet anymore. But someone had told him to do something. Someone important. Someone he didn’t _need_ to listen to, but usually _should_. _Harris, open your eyes._ He shook his head. “Can’t.” They felt swollen and puffy and nothing was responding right. Were his eyes even closed? He could see Jamack clearly, with a glowing aura around him. “Pretty,” he murmured.

Jamack had seen Harris like this a couple times before. If he went without water for too long he became delirious. At least he seemed very stuck to the cactus, not likely to fall off. “I’m going to pour some water over your face,” he warned him, leaning closer and carefully spilling water over Harris’ eyes and nostrils.

Harris blinked and spluttered, but now he thought his eyes were _really_ open. Jamack’s halo was gone, anyway. “You’re really here?” His head began to feel cool enough, moist enough, for him to think again.

“Yeah. Here, stay still.” Jamack shifted over to another bundle of spikes, much closer to Harris now, his arm wrapped around the skinny Frog. He raised the water bottle to Harris’ lips, waiting for a nod before tipping it back so Harris could drink. He wasn’t sure Harris wouldn’t fall if he tried to hold the bottle. Not that Jamack wasn’t in danger of falling, but he was at least fully aware of where he was.

Still not entirely trusting that this was really happening, Harris darted out his tongue to lap suspiciously at the water. It tasted pure and clean and he opened his mouth wide, letting it pour down his throat and into his parched core. His third eyelids kept sliding down, but he couldn’t seem to stop them.

“We’ll get down soon,” Jamack promised. “I’ve got you.” He tightened his grip on Harris. Not because he was worried he might fall, but because he felt as though Harris had nearly been ripped away from him and he wasn’t willing to give him up.

They had spent more than a year apart now, and Jamack had thought maybe that was the last time he’d be dumb enough to try this relationship again, but clinging here, with Harris held against his chest, he knew he was 100% stupid enough to do this again.

“I’ve got you.”


End file.
